


#spacedivas

by FauxFidele



Category: Catalyst: A Rogue One Novel - James Luceno, Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Blow Jobs, Canon Compliant, Comfort/Angst, Eventual Smut, Galennic - Freeform, M/M, Manipulation, Mind Games, Office Sex, Power Struggle, Romantic Gestures, Roughness, Smut with a Star Wars Plot, i think, nerdy technical babble, sexual tension everywhere, true to Star Wars universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-30
Updated: 2017-03-28
Packaged: 2018-09-20 20:14:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9511445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FauxFidele/pseuds/FauxFidele
Summary: Six months after the tragedy of Lah'mu, Galen is already hard back at work for the Empire, forced to work alongside his old friend, Director Orson Krennic. Its not long before Galen realizes his relationship with Krennic could play a critical part in his work for the Empire.Can Galen adapt to his new role in the Tarkin Initiative without falling back under the spell of Orson Krennic and the entire Imperial Army? Or will he repeat the mistakes of his past ...?*****6 Chapters + Epilogue*****





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This wasn't even a ship I wanted in my life, but Catalyst sealed the deal and it won't let me stop. Most of the story is canon-compliant, as far as I know. (I haven't finished the Rogue One book.) 
> 
> Yes, there is smut.
> 
> I've struggled with the motivation to post this because of terrible RL things, which is obviously all the more reason to go through with it. SO! I present you with #spacedivas (because that made me laugh and EVERYONE SHOULD LAUGH RIGHT NOW)
> 
> And thank you to @llewcie for helping to motivate me through this {hugs}
> 
> I swear that's all, thank you all for reading! I hope you enjoy and always love hearing your feedback. (It's kind of the best)

Galen stood with his arms folded over his chest, absently watching the little service droid zip around its tools and tinker with the broken control panel across the hall from his doorway. A symphony of beeps and clicks erupted from the excited droid and the screen lit up, buzzing with happy chimes, turning green for the first time in weeks. He nodded a dismissal and it scurried off, the circuit board now set on the main screen -- an Imperial flag outlined in white against a dark blue background -- the standard for all com screens on Empire-controlled vessels.

He stared off to the floor for a moment, remembering how it became broken almost two weeks ago.  
  
Their bantering echoed down the hallway, Galen and three other men, all wearing coordinating uniforms, but their posture relaxed and slowed after the long night. They reached a crossroads in the vast hallway of the Research wing, merging into the slimmer corridor of the Engineering quarters.  
  
The eldest man in the group, hair and bushy eyebrows completely white-grey, stopped, facing Galen. His sunken eyes became glossy, and he shook his head back and forth. “The research was good, Galen,” he said, slightly emotional. “Damn good.”  
  
Galen returned the concern with a kind smile, patting the older man on the shoulder. “Thank you, Sil,” he said. “It was the test subject, not the research, that was the problem.”  
  
“Fuck this study!” cursed a dark haired man on the far end, his speech a little sloppy. The youngest member of their team, his dark eyes were barely visible from how heavy they sagged after a few too many drinks. Galen and the white-haired man chuckled, shaking their heads and shushing him to varying degrees of effort.

“Go to sleep, Vraz,” Galen said, goading the young man while trying to suppress a sympathetic smile. “You’re going to need it.”  
  
“ _You_ go to sleep,” he argued back pointlessly, walking just around the corner to his quarters that were mercifully just the first door over.  
  
“Thanks again for the extra round,” Galen added politely, as Vraz nodded and smiled grimly, letting the door whoosh closed behind him.  
  
“Sil, you, too ... ” Galen said to the older man, gesturing his head down the hall. “Need your rest if we’re to start from scratch tomorrow.” He laughed a little miserably, and the older man looked again as if he might start to cry.  
  
“Goodnight,” Galen said, chuckling a bit. He shooed him off to his quarters and stretched his head to the side to make sure he made it inside, waiting until he heard the door close.  
  
Finally Galen turned to the last man standing next to him, the one who remained suspiciously, uncharacteristically mute as they turned and walked in stride, continuing down the hallway.  
  
“You’re quiet tonight, Orson,” he said softly, as the hallway ended at a sealed doorway. Galen typed in a code and it swished open, and they kept walking down the smaller corridor.  
  
Tripping a bit over the threshold, the slightly smaller man shrugged, keeping up with his pace, but with steps hitching here and there. “One too many Mandalorian Whiskey Bombs,” he answered, straightening up and clearing his throat. “ … Or three.” Orson Krennic lifted one side of his mouth into a smile.  
  
Galen stopped in front of the last door on the hallway. “You’ve passed your turn,” he said mildly, looking back and then to his own door. “You’ll be able to find your way safely, I assume?”  
  
Krennic scoffed dismissively. He stood for a moment, his brain clearly turning its gears, analyzing him. He drew out the long silence. “Did you know that the synthiranite would fail the energy analysis?" Orson asked, wide eyes fixated on the scientist.  
  
_There it is_ , Galen thought. _The real reason Orson had invited himself along this evening._

Galen had somehow forgotten just how blue Krennic’s eyes really were; his hair had filled in with thick streaks of grey, his skin creased with deeper lines, but his eyes remained as icy and piercing as ever. They stared into Galen, peeling away his layers, as they've always been able to.

"I had my suspicions," Galen replied, swallowing down the bad taste building in his mouth. "But I'd hoped to be proven wrong."  
  
" _Did_ you?" Krennic raised his brows, questioning him with unbroken eye contact, though he had to grip a nearby safety rail to keep his balance. “Or did you prefer making me look _foolish_.” The Commander had not intended for it to come out so scathing, but he narrowed his eyes anyways.  
  
“That’s not fair,” Galen retorted, looking hurt, before stopping to consider his words more carefully. "Orson," he said, his forehead creasing inward into deep folds, “you know that research is all I know … it’s the only constant in my life.”  
  
Krennic studied Galen Erso, knowing he was hearing the truth. Galen had never been an adept liar, and now his eyes burned intensely, meeting his gaze, a habitual tick when he spoke earnestly, signifying the scientist’s authenticity. Orson still peered suspiciously, having a rather difficult time focusing with the swirling haze of inebriation fogging over his eyes.  
  
"Not the _only_ constant," Krennic said at last, but with a confused look crossing his face as if he didn’t expect to hear the words he’d just said aloud.

His gaze lingered just a little too long and when Orson looked suspiciously like he was leaning in closer, Galen stepped back, shivering. The Commander fell forward, chasing the loss. Horribly, Krennic caught himself reaching for Galen’s arm for stability, grabbing hold of his bicep, and before he could even decide whether to pull him closer or let go, his breath disappeared from his lungs as he was slammed into the far side of the corridor, up against Galen’s utility closet door. 

"Don’t you dare!” Galen yelled, furious, glaring at the Commander, who seemed genuinely surprised at the harsh response. “You have _no_ right, Orson.”

The mellow buzz from earlier evaporated, leaving Galen seeing red, blinded by the onset of rage.  
  
"Galen ..." Krennic pleaded, flinching away from the raised voice. “I --”  
  
"Don't!" Galen snarled, cutting him off with finality.

He brought his fist back and Orson turned and braced for the impact. Galen slammed it down hard and Krennic only opened his eyes when he heard the crunch of broken plastic and the soft buzz of malfunctioning wires, seeing the destroyed control panel to his left, still sparking from the impact of Galen’s fist. Orson looked up to him slowly, with great apprehension.

Neither man spoke, Galen too furious, Krennic rather dumbfounded, unsure whether it was fear or exhilaration that caused his paralysis. His head fell lazily to the side, becoming all too apparent that he was more drunk than anything else.  
  
Galen turned to his room with a scowl, disappearing inside the door.

 


	2. Chapter 2

So here Galen was again, facing the keypad he’d broken when he’d lost his temper. Guilt nagged at the scientist; he had always tried for peaceful resolutions, and detested violent acts of any kind.

… _Even in Orson’s case_. (He’d been having to remind himself lately.)

Galen’s utility closet had been inaccessible for the past two weeks, as he happened to shatter the panel just as a cargo shipment of tech supplies had been intercepted by smugglers with sympathies to the Rebellion. He'd been really missing one of his crystal refractors, and looked forward to using it during today's research. 

Before he could type the code to enter the storage room, Galen sensed another presence and turned to find the Commander striding his way down the hall. Orson looked sharp as always in the white tunic of the Imperial Intelligence division, but oddly, sans the long, flowing cape he almost always donned with his uniform. Krennic did wear his black gloves, and cupped his hands together cheerfully as they greeted.  
  
“Good morning, Galen,” he said brightly. His eyes darted back and forth a bit, a little over-enthusiastic. He cleared his throat, as if to prompt a response.  
  
“Morning,” Galen replied reluctantly, adding a curt nod. “What’s this about?” Orson frowned a little, disappointed at the cold greeting.  
  
“Field mission today.” Krennic said it with the tact of an order, but his eyes were alight with a hint of something unspoken, some form of mischief. He let a sly smile spread across his lips, trying to lighten up the tension.  
  
Galen chose not to notice it. “Shall I gather my team?” he asked flatly, and to Krennic’s surprise, without even a hint of intrigue. The scientist merely stared away, eyes on the ground.  
  
“That, ah, won’t be necessary today,” Orson said, still trying to smile kind of awkwardly while trying to build up the enthusiasm between the two of them. Krennic fidgeted and motioned his hands, but held back, as if he’d thought about making some sort of physical gesture and immediately changed his mind. Galen cast him a puzzled look.  
  
“Twenty minutes and we’ll leave from the dock, alright, Erso?” His brows arched up, questioning Galen.  
  
The scientist dipped his head low in agreement, unenthusiastically consenting. Krennic’s lips twitched as he nodded the confirmation, before marching down the hall and out of sight.  
  
Galen stared absently after him, down the empty hallway, his mind reeling. Was he imagining things, or did Orson seem nervous?  It’s true he could have been embarrassed from their last encounter, though it was unlike his old friend to behave coyly in any situation; he’d more likely pretend it never happened.  
  
Galen’s mind was suddenly pulled to his research team, specifically to the younger man that had paid for their rounds of drinks. Vraz. When Galen had gone to the lab this week and noticed his absence, he asked the other team members and was told only that Vraz had been “removed from the project.” There was a time when Galen was naive enough to believe he might be alive, but that time has long since passed, and he imagined that the young scientist had been left somewhere bleak and desolate with a blaster wound to his gut.  
  
He bit down on his lip, pacing quietly. He considered the past six months of his life here; thrust back into the thick of his research, muddled down by years of input from different scientists on the project, an almost-impossible task for someone like Galen, who could scarcely interpret his own cerebral musings, let alone other’s data as well. Without Lyra to translate his notes, the progress was abysmal. As much as he hated the Empire and resented everything it stood for, Galen still felt an inexplicable sense of loyalty to his team of researchers, odd as it seemed, and he’d been truly disappointed at their most recent failure with the synthiranite.

Perhaps the Emperor was equally disappointed. Galen could only imagine the cost incurred by Krennic’s melodramatic rescue mission to Lah’mu, and he wondered if the Empire was tired of waiting for their investment to pay off. Maybe his favor with Orson Krennic had finally run dry and they’d all realized what he’d already begun to suspect: that Galen Erso was no longer needed to complete their precious battle station.  
  
Galen sighed, still pacing. This was the best case scenario, really. He deserved it, certainly, for letting down Lyra … _and Jyn_. For letting himself become so enamored with Orson and the Empire in the first place. His heart wrenched.

He’d brought this on himself, and it was as good a day to die as any.


	3. Chapter 3

They met on the loading dock in front of the T-3c with a sparse group; just Krennic, the pilot, and a handful of crew members. It was a light load for this type of scouting mission, which customarily included an offensive team of troopers at the very least -- and like most Imperial officers, Krennic really loved his troopers.

Still, there were none to be found.  
  
Galen stepped into the loading zone skeptically, taking in the situation, making slow strides up to the shuttle. Krennic turned over his palm, waving it in front of the door, gesturing him to enter. “Erso.” He noticed as he looked around that he was attracting a particularly unsettling amount of attention, onlookers whispering and averting their eyes if he dared to look their way.

 _Dead Man Walking_.

Galen shuddered from the unwanted judgement and hurried aboard the vessel, preferring the possibility of certain death in the comfort of an old friend over a crowd of ogling strangers.

Lights were blinking and flashing all around the entryway as they loaded the shuttle, Galen unable to stop his eyes from searching corner to corner, inspecting the inside of Krennic’s favorite form of intergalactic travel, the sleek _Delta_ -class T-3c. Galen despised the design, which reminded him of an oddly terrifying entomological species found on Dantooine -- all black with long, exaggerated limbs that seemed even more absurd coming from their tiny, single thorax (which, mind you, could also open up to reveal a nasty sea of prickly black teeth). Galen shivered, remembering that dissection from class.

“ _This_ way,” Krennic said, gesturing with his fingers for Galen to follow him, turning a corridor.

They entered a slim, narrow elevator and it dropped them out downstairs, opening out to a short corridor with only two doors.  When they stepped out, the elevator sealed itself behind them, and Orson led them both into the room at end of the hall. Galen knew immediately that it was Krennic’s study.

For the size of the vessel, the space was vast, shelves filled with books and screens of scrolling information, Holo-posters with moving images of Emperor Palpatine and one with the Imperial emblem fading in and out over a assemblage of Death Troopers. Krennic’s desk was arranged perfectly centered to the room, with either holo-poster on either side of his massive command chair, likely designed to feel quite daunting when entering the room.

Instead of sitting front and center at his desk, Krennic led them to a lounge area to the side, consisting of just two oversized chairs with a small, angular table in the middle.

“Please, Galen. Sit,” Orson offered hospitably. “Are you hungry? Tea?”

Watching Orson carefully, Galen shook his head decidedly, but still sat down into the plush of the cushions, the Bantha leather deceptively soft. “Where are we going, Orson?” he asked coldly, eyes ablaze with distrust.

Krennic eyed him quizzically, not entirely understanding the scientist’s unease. It was hardly the first time they’d embarked on a field mission together, but perhaps he was still harboring some misgivings after their last unfortunate encounter, which Orson preferred not to dwell on too much so he tucked it nicely away, into the far corner of his mind. He sat on the arm of the chair across from Galen.

“Vyda 6-K,” Krennic answered plainly, but, anticipating the scientist’s forthcoming questions, he continued. “An uncharted planet located in the Outer Rim, approximately halfway between Bespin and Dagobah systems. Rather unpleasant little mound of rocks, frankly.” Orson smiled, huffing a bit of a laugh underneath. “But it still has a purpose, and something that could be of interest. To you.”

Galen processed this, already exhausted from his own racing thoughts. “Oh! and Type II Atmosphere,” Orson went on, casually. “Though _I’d_ never step foot on that heap of garbage, certainly not without a proper containment suit.”

When Krennic grinned like he’d made a joke, Galen felt a rush of annoyance and half huffed, half growled as he rose to his feet hastily. Orson arched his brows, questioning him.

“Just get it over with,” Galen said gruffly, head low, eyes fixed on the Director.

“ _Alright_ , Galen.” Orson rose to his feet, meeting the scientist face to face. “ … I’ll _bite_.” He made a sardonic frown that turned into an expression halfway between curiosity and genuine concern.

“What exactly _is_ it that I’m supposed to be doing?” Galen’s temper flared, his posture immediately making his shoulders seem more broad, and Krennic stepped back, just a half step, in response.

“The Outer Rim planetary excursion. No other team members. Or guards! My research has been subpar and mostly useless. If the Emperor wants my head on a stake, I’m happy to oblige.” Galen’s voice was raised, cracking a little frantically.

Krennic tilted his head sideways, pursing his lips. “Galen … ”

“Probably better that it’s you,” the scientist said. It somehow seemed appropriate after everything, Galen thought, grinding his teeth, visibly distressed.

“Oooh,” Krennic said, his face flexing with amusement. “You really do think I’m going to murder you?” he said completely without alarm. He studied Galen with absolute fascination.

“Do you deny it?” Galen asked heatedly.

Krennic rolled his eyes, as if refusing to answer the question, but after a very long and drawn out breath, the Commander finally spoke.

“Do you know what happened to your colleague, Vraz?”

Galen stared at him blankly. “Dead, I’m sure,” he answered flatly, narrowing his eyes as if daring Krennic to lie about it. “And?”

 _Oh Galen, Lyra made you so dramatic_. Krennic sighed, trying to find his patience. “Has anyone told you about the circumstances that contributed to Vraz being removed from the program, Galen?”

Galen scowled. “No … Orson, what’s this --”

Krennic lifted a gloved palm to silence Galen with his index finger.

“ _Vraz Rhorjak_ ,” Krennic continued, enunciating each word indignantly, “told your entire research team that you and I went home together that night -- that he saw us head to your room … alone.”

Galen felt the color drain from his face. If there was anything he’d expected to come out of Orson Krennic’s mouth, it was not that. He opened his mouth to speak, but stopped, punch-drunk from the revelation.

Orson shrugged ambivalently, though he was frowning a bit, looking to the floor. “Reputational damage aside,” he said, with a quick glance of a side eye, “... it was lucky.” Galen had a confused scowl on his face.

“A loose-lipped, blowhard working on a Top Secret Weapons Project for the Empire?” Orson lips twitched into a morbid smile. “That’s how rumors get started.”

Galen just stared off to the floor, considering. Thinking. Taking it all in. “Did they believe him?” the scientist asked earnestly, so innocent that Krennic unexpectedly burst into a laugh.

“Galen,” Orson said with a sigh, shaking his head, “I’ve spent _four_ years searching every corner of the Galactic realm, much to the delight of Moff Tarkin, condemning me to ridicule even in front of the Emperor himself … all on account of _one_ man.”

Galen scrunched his forehead, as if not able to comprehend. _Seven Sithlord Hells_ , Krennic bemoaned to himself, for a man as brilliant as Galen, he’s also insufferably dense.

Orson snorted a short laugh. “I can assure you that you’re the _only_ person in the entire Empire who could be convinced that I’ve come here to _murder_ you.”

It didn’t make him happy to admit it out loud, but Orson thought perhaps it would appease Galen to hear him say something so forthright. The scientist became hit with the realization of the words all at once, the truth crushing him under its weight, forcing him to take a seat. He hid his face between his palms, the way Galen did sometimes when he was lost in a thought.

Deciding to give Galen a moment of reflection, Krennic strolled over to his command station, facing his desk, and sat back in his chair. He moved a finger over top a small, grey switch, pushing it in, and a Holo-screen appeared in front of him, crew members on standby.

“ _Yes, Director Krennic_ ,” spoke the figure.

“Breakfast and tea,” Krennic responded bluntly, and pressed the button again to dismiss the screen. He rose from his desk and joined Galen once again, taking the seat across from him, steepling his fingers between both hands.

“Galen, this can’t truly be that much of a shock,” Orson said gently, more questioning than patronizing.

The scientist shrugged it off. “My mind is very occupied these days,” he responded, his voice quiet. “I thought you were going to have me killed.” Galen forced an awful, mocking smile as he spoke the words.

“My dearest friend,” Krennic replied, glancing at the Scientist with a spark of nostalgia in his smile. “I would never let that happen.”

Galens brows furrowed inward, mind clearly in a violent conversation with itself, considering the weight of Orson's words. The implications. Galen couldn't bring himself to believe that after four years, after Lyra -- after everything -- that Orson could still care so much for him.

“It might at least quell some of the questions floating around about your … allegiances.” Orson said, trying to break his silence. He offered an encouraging shrug. “Couldn’t hurt,” he added, smiling awkwardly at the lingering tension.

The scientist only stared absently, lost in thought. The research team gossiping about he and Krennic. The Imperial officers … gossiping about them. He thought about Orson’s earlier words with dread, gulping.

‘ _You’re the only person in the Galactic Empire_ … ’

Tarkin. _The Emperor_.

How long before it was common knowledge? If Jyn was alive, would she find out? What would she think of him? The shame weighed on his features, his mouth wilting into a deep frown.

A series of high pitched chirps came from Krennic’s desk and the screen lit up like a rainbow with a topological map of some sort.  
  
Orson’s eyes lit up eagerly. “We're here.”


	4. Chapter 4

A young, grey-suited officer let himself into Orson's office and ushered in a cart of food, setting it atop the oddly-angled table. He put out two black cups, filling both with a beverage hot enough to make wisps of steam float above them. Leaving the decanter right in the middle, he finished arranging their formal place settings and stood, waiting for further instructions from the Director.

Krennic stood shoulder to shoulder with Galen Erso, both fixated on a scene outside the starboard window. Though the two men didn’t speak, there was a clandestinity lingering about the room that made the young officer feel as if he were intruding. He cleared his throat. “Sir --”

“That will be all,” Krennic said, cutting him off, dismissing him with a flippant wave, and the young man hastily disappeared through the door.

“This is extraordinary, Orson,” Galen said, still a bit lost in his own disbelief.

Looking out into space, planet Vyda 6-K should have been visible, but the atmosphere was thick and heavy, crimson and orange clouds swirling angrily around them though they didn’t seem close enough to the planet for that to be possible. A loud screech of lightning vibrated off the walls of the ship, and a bright purple flash lit up the sky. Galen’s face was all the way up to the glass, confident in the security of their vessel, but also far more interested in observing the phenomenon than in his own safety. The storm raged right before their eyes, spanning an incredible distance from just above the planet’s surface and extending deep into space.

Galen’s eyes darted back and forth, lips ghosting absent words, too slow to keep up with the racing thoughts. “It can't be,” he remarked. “ _Jedi’s Fire_ …”

Orson beamed, and though he tried to suppress his satisfaction, his teeth even made a rare appearance in the grin that spread from ear to ear. “Jedi’s Fire,” he said, confirming.

Galen took a hand across his chest, feeling his shoulder and moving it down along his arm. “I can _feel_ it,” he said, looking then to his hands. “I can feel the discharge, the ‘ _fire_ ’ so to speak.”

Orson’s nose scrunched up like he smelled something bad.  “Yes,” he agreed, unimpressed. “Unfortunate side effect.”

Not since his research days with the kyber crystals had Galen felt such a kindling inside his brain, that blissful eruption of unbridled curiosity. There were a million questions he wanted to ask, but he couldn’t concentrate on a single one to form the words properly.

“ _It’s just ... beautiful_ ,” he whispered dreamily.

Orson was encouraged by the scientist’s piqued interest, and a grin curved up his face. He knew Galen yearned for the rush of discovery, having been dormant with his family for so long. He often thought about what a tremendous waste it was for Galen to have been living on a farm -- squandering away his talent on such a basic and unstimulating existence as agriculture.

Now Galen’s eyes were as alert and full of excitement as Orson had ever seen them, and with the red afterglow from the atmosphere, they burned a fiery orange, with darker flecks appearing like tiny black constellations encircling his pupil. But he couldn’t draw his eyes away from Galen’s jawline, his beard perfectly untrimmed, if not a little messy. The flashes of lightning reflected off the silver and gold scruff, complementing the Scientist’s perfectly sculpted angles. _It really was beautiful_ , Orson agreed to himself.

“How is this happening?” Galen asked earnestly, turning to the side briefly to face the Director before returning his attention to the glass.

“I _orchestrated_ it,” Krennic answered, with a little extra bravado. Galen’s eyes narrowed, evaluating the Commander.

“Well, we created the force field,” he continued, clearing his throat. “My researchers found the deposit on a scouting expedition, and were delighted to find that the mineral shared some fascinating similarities with the _kyber_.” Orson lifted his eyebrows at Galen knowingly.

“The team was led by our head of the Force Engineering division, Dr. Berr Warben, and we began the research.” Krennic paused, starting to pace around the table of untouched food. “He called it _kyperonite_.”

Galen looked up at him doubtfully, as if he wanted to interrupt, but Orson proceeded before he could.

“Warben’s specialty in the Program was force fields. So we had the idea to build one to the necessary specifications for attracting a massive electrical surge. They constructed the force field around the _kyperonite_ vein with only one break in the shield; a vacuum to centralize the energy, so when a lightning storm should hit …” He hesitated, waiting for Galen to connect the dots, hoping he’d take the lead.

Galen chewed away at one side of his bottom lip. “Theoretically,” he chimed in, his enthusiasm increasing, “the two energy sources could be contained and routed into a single reaction that could ... alter the very genetic structure of the kyperonite.”

“Exactly!” Krennic said in agreement. “The bi-product of which, happens to be --”

“Jedi’s Fire,” the scientist said, finishing his sentence. Orson lifted his brows with more than a hint of self-satisfaction and even Galen slipped up, letting a grin flash across his face.

Orson started to speak. “Do you remember our bet -”

“Of course I do,” Galen answered abruptly, but without malice or spite. He thought back to Bright Futures, where he and Orson studied the phenomena known as ‘Jedi’s Fire,’ having argued about it then.

Galen returned his attention to the scene outside the window. “I said nothing was worth flying into the middle of a cyclone made of lighting and radioactive materials.” He let out an ambiguous huff of laughter. 

The Director smiled thoughtfully. “And _I bet_ that if you’d ever seen them, you’d change your mind.” Galen nodded rather absently in agreement, staring out at the dancing lights in front of him.

“Well ... ?” Orson looked up at him fondly, like a pup craving praise from its owner.  

Galen’s mind was so helplessly overstimulated that he couldn’t hold on to much to make a coherent sentence. “You were right,” he uttered, transfixed now on a fiery ball of blazing gas, floating from lightning bolt to lightning bolt, exploding with a wild spark each time.

Orson seemed appeased, chuckling a bit. “I always knew you’d lose that bet.”

“In my defense,” Galen said, more casual, “I knew my chances of encountering _Jedi’s Fire_ were remarkably low; however, I appear to have doubted your devotion to the study of energy, Orson.” Galen turned slightly and his shoulder brushed against the Commander’s. A shameful heat flushed through him, something he hadn't felt in many, many years. His lips twitched with the buildings of an expression that was notably, _not_ disgust. When Krennic looked up at him, Galen tried to straighten his expression and make it cold, unspectacular.

Galen inhaled sharply, stepping back from the Director. “You created a catalytic receiver to tunnel the energy?” A far off bolt of lightning spread its branches across the sky.

“Mmm hmm,” Orson grinned proudly. “The hole in the force field, no bigger than a standard mouse droid. We call it the ‘trap door.’”

Galen turned to face him again, face wrinkled in thought. “It’s not so much a door, really --” he started to mutter, but sensing the Director’s scowl, he decided to let it go. “Your ‘ _trap door_ ’ redirects this force-tuned power into the kyperonite,  _theoretically_ , infusing it with the D.N.A.?”

“Yes,” Orson replied, so pleased he was practically purring. He looked out as another bright pink flash lit up the room, highlighting the array of colors in the tumbling atmosphere. The clouds were oranges and deep yellows, angrily raging with loud, angry blasts of fuchsia-hued lightning bolts. He shivered as the electrical current surged through him, making his skin buzz irritably. He frowned, crossing his arms across his chest. “I very much dislike that,” Orson grumbled. He walked over to his com switch, paging his officer.

_“Yes, Director Krennic_.”

“Pull back -- now!” he snapped at someone.

“Fascinating,” Galen murmured, completely ignoring the fretting Commader, still in awe of the fearsome sight. Something nagged at him, though, and he looked up at Krennic with confusion. “Orson, why haven’t you told me any of this before?”

He joined Galen, overlooking the savage storm. “I suppose I wanted it to be a surprise,” Orson replied plainly, twiddling his fingers and thumbs.

Galen’s eyes flooded with realization. “You did this … _for_ me?” The scientist asked, his voice suddenly stuck in his throat, smaller than it should have been.

Orson huffed out a laugh devoid of any humor. “Of course I did this _for_ you.” He allowed a twisted, helpless smirk, shrugging in admittance. “... _idiot_.”

Galen raised his eyebrows, not sure how to process the inundation of information. Orson filled the silence with his voice. “I wanted you to see it. All the chaos. The destruction,” he mused quietly. “The beauty of it all.”

He studied the Director while his thoughts raced. His oldest friend, confidante. The world had changed so much since they met, yet Orson stood now like he was sixteen again, still attempting to win his approval. Galen wasn't sure of anything, anymore. 

“Thank you,” Galen finally said. And as if he couldn't stop himself, he reached over and took Krennic’s hand, squeezing it once, and quickly released it before Orson could react. Galen was genuinely surprised at how easy the touch came, but he immediately lamented the comfort it brought. Orson was quiet, and though Galen didn't turn to face him, he could sense the smile that softened the Director’s stern expression as they stood together, watching the storm, as the shuttle’s engine came to life again and they left the beautiful destruction in their wake.

Galen sighed aloud, deep in thought. Orson Krennic wasn't going to kill him.

_Orson Krennic was still in love with him_.


	5. Chapter 5

At Orson’s encouragement, they decided to stop nearby and eat breakfast, watching the storm flare on the much-more-distant horizon. Galen began shoveling his mouth full of food, not out of hunger, but because he’d hoped it would give him an excuse not to talk. Mercifully, Orson didn't seem to mind and the men ate in silence.

Unsurprisingly, the food was extravagant (though delicious, Galen had to admit). Cakes and colorful fruits with cream sauces, eggs, and biscuits as well filled the table with far more food than two people would ever need. He had a suspicion that the Gungan Wufustars -- the sweet, spiky yellow berries arranged artistically in the centerpiece -- did not find their way to the table by accident.

Galen took a handful. He inspected one thoughtfully, recalling his favorite physics teacher from the Program that would regularly sneak him handfuls of the exotic fruits, hiding them in a padded, bulky overcoat. Galen always shared them with Orson, and they’d flick them against the wall of their dorm while trying to catch them in their mouths off the ricochet. He caught himself smiling now, briefly, and popped the remaining berries in his mouth. Orson followed his lead, portioning a handful of the berries onto his plate with the serving spoon.

How easy it felt, to sink back into the comfort of Orson’s favor. Galen’s heart was ragged, stretched apart; half guilt-ridden over Lyra and in constant fear of betraying her, and the other half still undeniably drawn to the man across from him. The man who was once his dearest companion.  _The man who gave the command that killed his wife._

“I can tell when you’re thinking about her,” Orson said in a low voice, peering up from his meal. Galen didn’t bother arguing, and looked away without responding.

Krennic frowned a little at the affirmation. “I never …” he trailed off, and stopped to consider his words. Orson’s tone became softer, and a twinge of sincerity wrinkled his brow. “I never wanted it to come to that.”

Galen went still, the anger rising up from his stomach. He narrowed his eyes on the Commander.  
“ … Yet?”  

Orson gestured to his shoulder and stretched it out, making circles, his face straining with each movement. “She gave me little choice,” he said, palming the blaster injury dramatically, wincing in pain, “ … you know that, Galen.”

The scientist snorted a laugh, completely devoid of humor. “You _deserved it._ ” The words came out before he could stop them, but Galen didn’t back down, instead sitting up straight against the chair, folding his arms across his chest. The honesty felt good.

Krennic’s mouth dropped open. So often now when Galen spoke, it was Lyra that he heard. He swallowed down the tight swell in his throat and looked away, intent on retaining some facade of stoicism. At least Galen was finally showing some signs of transparency.

“I must respectfully disagree,” Orson replied, more composed. He took a bite of his food, trying to seem relaxed. “You knew I’d come for you.”

Galen’s mouth formed a hard line. He did know, of course, and so did Lyra. Her words echoed torturously in his mind. _You’re in his blood_. He choked a bit at the thought and cleared his throat, embarrassed by not realizing what she’d meant at the time. And he knew she was right, and worse -- that the reverse was true, too.

Krennic sighed. “You're the most gifted mind in the Galaxy, I assumed you’d have quite the hiding spot for your family …”

“Orson -- ” Galen growled, curtly shaking his head back and forth like a warning. Krennic marveled at the way Lyra’s insolence persisted through Galen; from his defensively flexed shoulders to the way his nostrils flared wildly, her influence was very much alive in the Scientist sitting before him.

“I never meant to hurt you, Galen.” Something in his tone was different; smaller. The wrinkles around his eyes creased a little deeper, and his lips fought too hard to keep the strained line from curving into any expression.

"But you did,” Galen seethed. "And it's not the kind of pain that will lessen over time, like some,” he said, glaring at Krennic's shoulder.

“All pain lessens over time,” Orson said quietly, completely devoid of malice. His head was hanging low, his mouth turned down as if he was stuck on an unpleasant thought. “ … even heartache.”

Both men were still as their eyes met, neither daring to look away. Heat burned Galen’s cheeks, the outrage building up inside him.

“Galen. I’m so--”

" _D_ _on't say it_." Galen made a fist and clutched the table linen in his grip. “Why would I take your word for anything?”

Orson’s index fingers were pushed against one another, resting against his lips, and a silence filled the space while he considered the question. “ _Vraz Rhorjak_ ,” he said, finally.

Galen stared at him blankly. “Yes?” he asked, a slight hesitation in his voice.

“He’s alive.”

Galen slowly raised a single eyebrow. “I know you believe me to be some sort of monster, but truly, I can be quite reasonable.” Orson’s face lifted in an unpleasant smile, and he chuckled.

“Well, where is he?” Galen questioned back irritably, weaving his arms back to a cross, eyeing him up and down flippantly. “Taken a holiday, that it?”

“ _Coruscant_ ,” Orson answered simply. “Being reassigned to a position _without_ restricted access, where he can learn to keep his mouth closed. Last I heard he was headed for the Department of Environmental Recovery.”

“To be a _trash scavenger_ ,” Galen said, half question, half statement of disbelief.

Krennic hinted at a smile. “He’ll be kept quite busy. And _safe_ , mind you.” The Director stood to his feet and turned, motioning for him to follow. “Come, see for yourself,” he said, urging him over to the desk.

A blue neon light flashed in front of them as the holo-screen turned on, and Krennic set his gloves aside, and began typing on the fluorescent grid. Galen watched on with intrigue as he searched an apparent database and finally, with a series of shrill beeps, a picture materialized in front of them. It was Vraz.

Orson smiled proudly, zooming in on his specs. “Go ahead,” he offered freely, waving his hand.

Galen used his fingers the same way Orson had and navigated through the screen, enlarging the text. “This was taken today,” he confirmed, squinting at the details, checking for abnormalities in his activity timeline. The system was highly regulated, nearly impossible to manipulate. He browsed the commands before selecting a button and a video feed cut in, showing the dark-haired man walking around in his silver uniform, talking with wild hand gestures, as if telling a story. They couldn’t hear the sound, but the time stamp would be accurate at any rate.

He looked sideways at Orson. “Congratulations. It would seem you’ve managed _not_ to murder someone.” Galen smiled a rather grim, twisted thing. “ … for once.” Orson shook his head from side to side, closing his eyes as if they had become too heavy with irritation to keep open, and exhaled deeply.

“Galen, I know how fond you are of your team members, and … ” Krennic stopped in the middle of his thought, suddenly aware of how close they were standing to each other. Galen cast him a quizzical look, as if waiting for him to finish.

He turned to Galen, making them face each other, and gently tugged the sleeve of the Scientist’s forearm, pulling him in. “I assure you, no harm will come to them,” he said, his hand now firmly gripping Galen’s arm. When he let go, the palms of their hands briefly connected, sending a heated chill down his spine. Orson missed when those touches weren’t such noteworthy occurrences, and he stared helplessly at the Scientist, unsure of how to say as much.

Galen had spent a lot of time on Lah’mu thinking about Orson’s many deceptions; beautifully constructed, veiled with a sense of compassion and masterfully sewn together with just enough truth sprinkled in to seem genuine. It drove Lyra mad to watch it happen. She would have never guessed that Galen might be a willing participant in his intellectual warfare. Hopefully Orson wouldn’t, either.

 _"I'_ _ll do what they least expect_ ,” Galen concluded, silently.

He backed away a bit, taking in Orson. He let his eyes close and allowed the feelings to wash over him; felt his heart racing at their closeness, the tightness in his belly, clenching just from the threat of their skin so close to touch. Though Galen had worked hard to stow the feelings into the darkest reaches of his subconscious, it was as simple as pulling the end of a thread to let them back in.

Galen grabbed Orson, and kissed him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EEEEEEEEK sorry about the cliffhanger. The good news is that next time, on #spacedivas ...
> 
> some smut! YAY!
> 
>  
> 
> *****************
> 
> Next update will not take as long as this one (@ self: NO JINXING!) Had a siege of auto-immune assaults so, was down for a bit. Thank you for all the lovely and encouraging words as I've been slowly coming along. :3


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Explicit Things Happening

Galen kissed Orson like he’d always wanted to; like nothing else mattered. Because it didn't, not anymore.

His finger guided Orson’s chin, and with the slightest pressure, tilted his head to the best angle for their lips to meet. He sank into the kiss with a light groan, the intensity of which vibrated into Krennic’s lips, causing him to lose his balance, nearly stumbling.

The scientist grasped Orson’s upper arm, steadying him. Galen smiled at the suddenly-nervous Commander, then kissed him again, refamiliarizing himself with Orson’s angles and reflexes, remembering which actions provoked the most lively responses. Galen idly wondered if he still liked the thing he did with his tongue. He tried it.

Orson moaned his approval into the warmth of Galen’s mouth, the heat flushing through him, burning his ears to the point of discomfort. He noticed how inconveniently snug his pants had become, and Krennic cursed himself for his inability to control his emotions around this man. Galen took note.

Orson dipped his head, exhaling sharply as he pulled away. “ _Galen_ ,” Krennic whispered.

“I don’t want to talk anymore,” Galen responded, but not with malice. The gravelly undercurrent implied something else. Orson would not allow himself to believe it.

Galen stepped away from Krennic, sizing him up and down. When he took a step back, the scientist’s heel was stopped, pressed into the base of the Commander’s chair. He turned to see the hindrance, to confirm it was where it was supposed to be. Keeping his eyes locked on Orson, he sunk back into the chair, relaxing slowly, letting his legs open just slightly wider than what seemed appropriate. He lifted his brows at Krennic, passing him the next move.

Orson froze. Is this what it looked like? He stared, stupidly and open mouthed, while he tried to decide if the seductive pose was intentional or not.

The chair squeaked softly under Galen’s weight as he slid one thigh open even wider, letting his eyes drop to his lap with obvious intent, and back up, narrowing his eyes on Krennic.  _Okay … intentional then,_ the Commander thought, still mulling. Wasn't as easy to calculate when his mind was ablaze with such a heady distraction.

“Are you just going to stand there?”

He closed his eyes, swallowing hard. Galen had used _that_ voice. The husky, indulgent drawl of a lover; it’d been so long since he’d heard the scientist use that voice, Krennic had forgotten how weak his defenses were to it. He dropped to his knees.

Looking up through his lashes, Orson posed obediently before Galen’s feet. The scientist loathed how easy it was to become hard just at the sight of Krennic sitting meekly before him. He moved to unfasten the button of his pants, but the Commander was faster, moving his fingers skillfully through the closures and worked his trousers and underwear down in a single swift motion with Galen lifting his hips to accommodate.

Orson allowed a moment to linger, admiring him like a work of art. Galen coiled his fingers around his own length, stroking up and thumbing over his sensitive head, the droplets of precum leaking elegantly down the side. Krennic was no prude; he’d had enough experiences, with enough women  _and_ men, to know that there was nothing else in the galaxy as exquisite as Galen Erso’s cock.

Krennic wasted no time swallowing him down, as deep and whole as he could manage. Galen’s eyes rolled back with his head, despite fighting the urge to watch Orson’s lips moving along the length of his cock. It didn't matter. He could feel it.

“You’re warmer than I remember,” Galen let slip, voice shaking.

Krennic paused, gently letting Galen slide free from his mouth with a soft, wet noise. His eyes looked up devotedly at the scientist, then back to the floor.

“You are _exactly_ as I remember.”

Galen leaned forward, taking himself in his palm. He guided the tip of his cock to Orson’s mouth, but instead of letting him swallow it, he brought it along the Commander’s lips, slickening them with his precum.

“Talking, again,” Galen reminded him cheekily, settling back into his seat.

The Commander ran his tongue over his own lips, chasing Galen’s trail, tasting him. “My _apologies_.”

Galen moaned softly as Orson took him once again, kissing the soft skin around his slit, just delicately letting his tongue slide over the top and down along the underside before opening wide and taking his length in whole once again. Galen’s head relaxed into the back of the Director’s chair, his lashes fluttering as he breathed out a long, raspy exhale.

 _That still works, apparently_ , Orson thought, grateful for his ability to remember small details.

As Krennic slid in fluid motions up and down his length, the scientist’s muscles struggled to be tamed, flexing and twitching from the force of all the pleasure, the strain of which produced an onset of whining sounds that Galen couldn’t seem to stop. He maneuvered a free hand behind Orson’s head, clutching at his hair, and bucked his hips to force himself deeper. Galen felt the slick, warm space struggle to contain him for a moment, but Krennic refused to gag, instead choosing to peer up at the scientist with just a hint mischief in his brow, as if to say ‘ _is that all you’ve got?_ ’

Galen answered with a thrust, but Krennic managed easily, sucking him down deeper … _faster_. Galen’s fingers gripped the armrests of the chair, his nails digging in hard. Orson hummed as he sucked all the way down, the sensation causing Galen to growl under his breath, clenching the armrests with all his force until a cold, metal switch under his palm made a clicking noise, making him freeze.

He started to curse under his breath, but before Galen could verbalize the warning a Holo-form materialized in front of him, in the form of the ship’s pilot.

“ _Yes, Director Kre_ \--”

The young man in the hologram stopped cold, eyes widened, and staring slack-jawed at the scene set before him. Krennic dropped Galen from his mouth but did not turn around, though he knew the hologram was staring at the back of his head.

“Dis _missed_!” he shouted curtly, but the com had already been killed as Krennic was already  smashing a pattern of buttons on the side of his chair. He glared silently at the scientist, his chest heaving up and down, and Galen wondered if he’d end up changing his mind about murdering him after all.

Krennic studied him, analyzing his response to the catastrophic invasion of privacy. Galen had always been painfully shy, any attention at all producing an immediate flush of crimson embarrassment. To his surprise, the scientist took a deep breath and slid back into position, offering his hips up, presenting his cock like a feast.

“ _I didn’t say you could stop_.” One side of Galen’s mouth turned up into a vicious smirk.

Orson gulped loudly, swallowing down his irritation. The heat building in his groin suddenly reminded him of where they’d left off, and he sunk down again on Galen’s cock.

He moved deep, and earnestly, wasting no time moving up and down his length, making the Scientist grunt and whine with every flick of the tongue. Galen’s fingers gripped the disabled armrest with one hand, while his left squeezed Krennic’s hair, pulling harder than he meant to or even knew he could.

“I missed the back of your throat,” Galen hissed, the praise slipping out of him in the heated moment of arousal.

Orson hummed a deep approval causing the scientist to gasp, jerking his hips forward, bucking deeper into Orson. Krennic readjusted, not even breaking rhythm as he continued to move up and down, finally noticing the subtle buildings of the orgasm twitching under his lips.

A sharp pain seared through Krennic, and he growled from the throbbing, but didn’t stop when he saw the source of the injury. Galen’s fingers grasped Orson’s shoulder firmly, ostensibly to steady himself, but the way his thumb dug down into the muscle was certainly not by accident. Krennic suffered the pain as Galen came with such a mewl that he was sure that every member of the crew would hear, but that didn’t stop him from swallowing down every last bit of him.

Orson bit his bottom lip, observing Galen as he sat back in his chair, panting and sweaty and satiated, and politely excused himself.

The Commander was already undoing his pants as he hurried into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him. It took only a few lazy strokes to make himself come, and he had to bite down hard on his lip to keep from making an obscene noise that Galen would most assuredly hear. He took a long, deep breath.

Whatever shame he might have normally felt from wanking into the toilet was replaced by the whirlwind of emotions circulating Galen Erso.

Orson stared into his reflection, looking straight into the clear pools of blue. This is not good, he thought. This is not good at all. He cupped one hand over his face, shielding his eyes. _Unless_ …

It had been months since Lyra’s passing, but he never imagined Galen moving on from her death, not so easily. He was oddly sentimental like that.  

But he’d kissed Orson, not the other way around. In fact, Orson had initiated nothing but friendly conversation and it was Galen who’d put on this grand act of seduction. He considered it with an audible hum. Maybe he really was ready to move on from Lyra. Perhaps this _could_ be a good thing after all.  
  
Krennic smiled back at his reflection and took a deep breath, ready to face a universe where anything was possible … even having Galen Erso at his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope it was worth the wait! Feel free to yell at me ... I mean, in a nice way, though, I'm delicate ;)


	7. Epilogue.

He couldn’t sleep. He really didn't even try. Galen sat atop the sheets instead of underneath, not bothering to get comfortable. That wasn’t going to be possible.

It had been four hours since Galen returned to his quarters after the reunion with Krennic.

The first three were spent wallowing. Three glasses of Corellian whiskey didn’t help assuage the guilt, so he cursed and threw things instead, making a mess out of his dining quarters. After that, he decided it best to be confined to his bedroom, left alone with his thoughts.

Four hours since the shuttle landed, since Krennic’s men stepped off and rejoined the ranks, meeting friends, colleagues. Nosy superiors. Krennic was a notorious pain in the ass to work for, and his staff was notoriously disloyal. Tarkin’s spies were planted everywhere, and almost certainly hidden among Orson’s closest staff.

When Galen went to work in the morning, they would all know. Everyone would know.

People had suspected anyways, apparently, but now he knew that information, too. At least they’re all on the same page now.  
  
There was no turning back. Tomorrow morning everyone would know _exactly_ what Orson Krennic did to get Galen Erso back to the Empire. He exhaled a long, deep sigh, and smiled.

 

 

***************

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Finally! Thank you for the kind comments as this came along slowly. Every kudo and comment is sincerely appreciated more than you all could know! 
> 
> This is the end of Part 1, but I hope to visit them again soon for a follow up. Wink.


End file.
